Emperor's Heir
by Gamerof1458
Summary: Jaune Arc was just a little boy when the Grimm came and destroyed his normal life. Instead of dying that day, Fate chose to whisk him away where he would be tested and have his destiny thrust upon him. Now the boy has become a man and he returns, ready to forge an empire upon the bodies of the Grimm. Now if only he could remember what being normal meant.
1. Interlude 1

_"Only he who has no use for the empire is fit to be entrusted with it."_

 _~Zhuangzi_

* * *

My name is Jaune Arc, and I was eight years old when the Grimm Horde first attacked my home.

We lived in one of the smaller villages that escaped the devastation of the common raiding attacks, but it wasn't long before we felt the repercussions. It spread in ripples from the larger cities like a pebble dropped in still water, and they said it was only a matter of time before the Grimm washed over the land that our feet stood upon, and we were to be overrun by the invading abominations too.

Two weeks after the first major invasion, my father and my mother and my sisters who could fight took up their arms and readied to fight the encroaching hordes. The government wished for my father to lead the charge when the time came. He was a well-known leader and well liked, he would be the perfect figurehead. They gave him their best, offered him all the luxuries that could be afforded in a wartime.

It was because of this that our home was the best and biggest.

It was also meant to be the safest.

The government wanted to turn it into a fortress against the Grimm because there was nothing but open plains on all sides, perfect for a prolonged assault and continued suppression through bullets and traps.

A couple of days after, and Hunters came to the city. They told us that we were being evacuated to Vale in three days and we had until then to get ready, we were only to take what could be carried and nothing superfluous. We were encouraged to bring rations and medical supplies, but leave behind personal treasures that would weigh us down. Most of all they impressed on us that anyone not ready in three days, would be left behind.

The day before we were scheduled to be evacuated, holes opened in the earth, and the Grimm Horde streamed out into the streets.

From the first crack we knew our days were numbered.

The Hunters that were to escort us were too far away to get to us and still had to fight through the horde. My father was not there to protect me or my little sisters. My mother was not there to help put up a desperate defense. My older sisters were not there to create a distraction for us to run.

Even though we'd all known an attack was inevitable, we were unprepared for it when it came. The Grimm came like cockroaches from the deep rifts they had made, and quickly overwhelmed whatever fortifications that were meant to protect us. Our defenses were comprised of volunteers holding old and rusty weapons that have seen the test of time. They didn't stand a chance.

They massacred the civilians, cutting them down and trampling them like grass. Tearing apart those who could not escape their grasp as they washed over the buildings like a tide of darkness, swallowing all in its path.

My name is Jaune Arc, I was eight years old when the explosion signaled the beginning of the end…


	2. Prologue 1

_Empires inevitably fall, and when they do, history judges them for the legacies they leave behind._

 _~Noah Feldman_

* * *

The blast rocked the house to its very foundations, as though it were made of matchsticks. Jaune was jerked awake by the violent shuddering as it flung him from his bed and to the floor, where he lay for a dazed moment, confused and frightened and only half aware what was going on.

Then the sirens began to wail as the boom of a second explosion rumbled the ground, and the glass in the windows shattered into a million pieces. Jaune covered his head with his arms as he was rained on by the shards, but the pain of the countless tiny scratches caused by the sharp glass was immediately forgotten as the terror of realization flooded through him body. The earthquake, explosions, and the screaming sirens could only mean one thing.

The Grimm were attacking.

Before the tremors of that second explosion had even subsided, he could hear the apocalyptic symphony; people screaming, the guttural roars and growls of the dreaded Grimm, the terrifying sound of gunfire and desperate fighting, but despite being petrified by the sounds of inevitable death, Jaune scrambled up to look out of him window at the devastation below.

The Grimm were everywhere; their huge black bodies swarming so thickly in the grey morning light that it looked like the morning fog had suddenly risen up and spawned the hideous spectres from itself. Transfixed Jaune could only watch in horror as the monsters trampled the humans fleeing before them, cutting them down without thought or mercy.

Hands suddenly closed on Jaune's shirt and drew him away from the window, and the shriek that almost burst from the boy's lips was silenced as he saw his little sisters. Whatever comfort they sought with him was lost however as his face was bloodless pale and drawn with a terrible mixture of fear and resignation, his eyes were huge with dread and the whites were frighteningly obvious.

Rouge, Violet, and Noir all stared up at him with fright plain across their expressions. He gulped, realizing that as the oldest, he was the voice of authority here.

"Get your things." he whispered in a low, urgent voice, "Get into your little cubby and stay there."

Like a snapping of fingers, the three little girls shot off. Jaune stayed a bit, watching them all pulling on socks and boots, sweaters and jeans over their little pyjamas. Noir was the one who dragged out the knapsacks while Violet was the one to help slip them all on. Violet, the youngest, could only be rushed around and helped.

When they were all dressed, Jaune walked them all over to the cabinet in their parent's master bedroom. He managed to slowly but surely push it aside and stuck his fingers into a tiny hole that he used to swing the wall out, revealing a cubby that could comfortably fit two people. Jaune ushered them all in, trying his best to whisper soothing words and gave each of them a hug before stating how proud he was of all of them as they all crawled into the now cramped space.

"Don't make a sound now," he said in a soft but firm voice. Then he smiled, and the expression was tight and strained with pain and fear and sadness. "I love you guys. Don't ever forget that."

The goodbye was clear in his voice, and Jaune could see alarm and panic rise within them as they subconsciously understood what was happening even as he said it.

"Big brother?" "Jaune?" "Jaune?!"

"Goodbye." And before they could do anything, the cubby door was closed, and he replaced the cabinet in front of it.

"JAUNE!"

Jaune could hear small fists hammering on the inside of the door, screaming and crying his name over and over again, despite his instructions to stay quiet. But even as they called and called, Jaune knew that he would never see them again.

Downstairs, the front door exploded in a shower of splintered wood.

Jaune immediately fell silent as the pure terror robbed him of his voice, and his whole body became rigid with fright as he felt the floor beneath him vibrate with heavy thumps pounding as the a Grimm stomped into the house.

The little Arc sniffled, wiping away his tears before he breathed in deeply and felt his fists tighten.

" _A man always protects his family."_

The stern but loving voice of his father came unbridled into his conscious, and Jaune felt a cold relief settle into his veins as he calmly stalked over to the wall where his father had placed the family heirloom, Crocea Mors. The sword was taken care of and shone in the dull light. Jaune stood up on his toes and managed to wrestle the blade down without injuring himself. The boy then used the pommel to smash the glass case directly below the hanging stand, grabbing the sheath and turning it into its shield form.

 _"Pain is temporary, glory is forever. Be mindful of what you choose to do with that heirloom."_

He had trained before but with practice swords and shields made of wood. The real thing was quite heavier but the boy felt his resolve flood his body and he managed to right himself into a loose and basic stance. The boy calmly hefted the sword and shield and walked out of the room, mindful of the now silent cabinet. The weight was reassuring, as was the history his father last imparted on his fabled great grandfather who wielded the weapon before his father and now him.

 _"_ _Alexander Arc was a warrior of unmatched might on the field of battle. He was a giant of a man, built like an Greek god. But he had one weakness. His wife and daughter. A man of great strength will always be needed elsewhere and in the end, what the blades of the men he slew on the battlefield could not do, the knives of assassins accomplished. His heart had been sundered. Your great grandfather will forever be known to the world as the father who failed to save his wife and almost failed to save his daughter. To himself, he was the husband who wasn't able to save his wife and almost was unable to save his daughter. The former is seen as failure while the latter makes him a monster. His daughter never did forgive him for his_ _dereliction of duty as a husband but the self loathing he inflicted upon himself never measured to her hatred of him."_

He walked past the doors of his sisters, both younger and older. He walked past the door of his own room, not pausing once or looking into it. He walked past it all and down the stairs into the main living room and met the ferocious red eyed demon at the bottom with a stiff upper lip and his own determined stare.

 _"Remember boy, always protect what is important to you."_

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

The Alpha Beowulf snarled and leapt at him.


	3. Prologue 2

_Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily_

 _~Napoleon Bonaparte_

* * *

Jaune groaned, letting the adrenaline slowly sink out of his body as he tried to regain his breath. The fight had been tough, doubly so when comparing his size to the Alpha but in the end, he had done it. He had slain the damned monster with a vicious stab to the underside of its chin. The heirloom jutted through the beowulf's skull, its mystical properties letting the black ichor slowly dribble off as the carcass slowly turned into specks and floated away.

The wreckage of the shed in the back surrounded him, the wood splintered and ruined as Jaune made himself comfortable on the pile of debris. He had done it, he had led the monster away from the home and from the cubby where his sisters were hiding in. He could feel his spirit slowly bleed out, his determination cooling as he felt content with his last act. The sharp sticks that poked at his spine were but a small backdrop to the fiery feeling that lit up whenever he moved his side.

Growls and howls sounded off like an unholy symphony from the nearby forest, the rest of the horde no doubt running as fast as they could to him. The young boy gingerly got up, mindful of the gash on his side and hissing in pain as his body creaked ominously with sounds no human body should make. He walked over to Crocea Mors and picked the blade up, the Alpha long disintegrated and the sword fell blade first into the ground where it stood like a stalwart defender against the tides of darkness.

He looked behind him at the long distance of open field that separated him from the outside and the inside of home. He could feel a small part of him, the little boy that was doing the work of a man, plead with his tired bones to run as fast as his legs could carry his remaining weight and find somewhere to hide and hope he would survive.

The rational part of his brain, the warrior that had shed demon blood seconds ago, told him it wouldn't do him any good to retreat now. At most he would get halfway before being brought down and torn apart and even worse, his screams might even reach his sisters.

No, better to die spitting in the face of the enemy than to be at their mercy.

The first beowulf came out of the trees with a snarl loose across its foul lips. The boy felt it once more, the burning determination to hold his ground and make these creatures of the night suffer for their meal. The boy met the snarl with his own, his shield arm flashing forth to deflect the heavy claw that would have cleaved his head in half before slashing wildly at the off balance creature.

The boy lost his mind to the fight, letting instincts take over as he rallied.

=R=W=B=Y=

Deacon was not having a good day.

Scratch that, he was having a rather shitty day.

First, his favorite robes were destroyed in a firefight with possessed cultists and he didn't have a spare. Or anything leftover to even be repaired. Second, his squadron was then ambushed by more aforementioned cultists who just so happened to be the ones that actually had some idea on how to use their new eldritch powers so he had a jolly good time chanting his holy scripture and combating the evil magics while watching good men and women die at the hands of these heathens.

And then finally, when all was said and done, he realized that this was only the first house he had breached and they had a reported sixteen more to go before the day's end.

So yes, he was having a rather shitty day. Normally his life would be filled with the Lord's work and doing his best to make Earth a better place but some days, he just hated his job.

Don't get him wrong, he would gladly be the one to give body and soul to the Lord as he laid righteous hellfire and smite all who would abandon the Lord's grace but on these particular incursions, he also felt disgusted how the losses significantly rose than in an average day.

Granted…acting upon the Vatican's call to arms was never done lightly. History may remember them as acts of brutal oppression but the hidden meaning for the crusades were never something to joke about or easy to get around…

Oh wait, wrong term.

He couldn't be calling it a crusade anymore, it was actually supposed to be…umm…peacekeeping! Yeah! That! He was no longer a crusader, he was a peacekeeper. Such a term change was proof enough of the stupid power of media influence.

In the end, he couldn't complain. He was the best suited of their generation and he did have the literal uncanny ability to wield fire and cleanse all those who had strayed from the path in its glorious burning embers. The Templars of the Hellfire Squadron were battle hardened veterans, wielding flames and scripture like it was their own arms and legs. The soldiers gave no ground and no mercy.

They were the last resort and the first line of defense. The enemy may swarm like a tide but it was the stalwart figures that stood like statues that broke the back of the beast. No opponent was too great or too strong, they were only kindling.

Like the group of cultists lying in wait after his squad had breached the next building. Deacon chanted his vows of fire and beheaded his enemies, an almost animalistic glee building up inside him as he cleaved his way through.

Within minutes, the cultists had all been massacred and the Hellfire Squad moved onward. What they found beyond the foul black magic line was a golden door, no doubt leading into the throne room. They tried pushing it open, but it was barricaded from the other side.

"Demo charges to the front! Now!" a one eyed man with skin the same color of charred wood shouted. Seconds later, a path had been cleared to the doors for a pair of priests who rushed along. The Templars withdrew to a safe distance as the priests began setting up the explosives.

"Demo charges placed, sir!" one of them shouted before they sprinted away from the door. "Fire in the hole!" that was the only warning given before with a push of a button, the doors went up in smoke and flames. Without even waiting for the smoke to clear, the armored men and women of the Light charged headlong into the unknown.

But what they found on the other side was not what they had expected.

There were no cultists blocking their path, because they were all dead. Their blood stained all surfaces of the throne room, and many of their corpses were placed on pikes in the center of the room, where a robed man was standing inside the foulest of symbols known to man.

The Five-Pointed Star.

"So at last do the Vatican's slaves come before me," The robed man proclaimed as he brought out a book from within his robes. "But you are too late to stop us."

"You sound cliche as fuck," Deacon growled, "Kill him!"

With no further bluster, the heathen opened the book and began chanting in a foul language that hurt one's ears. Having waited long enough, Deacon and his comrades raised their rifles and as one opened fire on the heretic. But their efforts were in vain, as a force field of some kind sprung up around him, deflecting the incoming fire.

"Ranged weaponry doesn't work on him, so we'll take him with Black Keys! Charge!" someone shouted. That was all the explanation the squads needed as they shouldered their guns and brandished their swords while charging. Deacon himself clutched multiple copies inbetween his clenched fingers, using them as a crude claw.

The sword was called a Black Key.

The church had many secrets but one of their well-known secrets was the Burial Squad. This select branch of militants was the legalized on paper group of enforcers that was used to strike down abominations and heretics that preyed on man. The Burial Squad were full of skilled fighters that utilized one tool. This was the Black Key. Each blade had been forged in holy rites, blessed every step of the way and was granted a limited awareness.

It was a blade made to hate all things inhuman. Be it a demon, an undead, an angel, or even an alien, they Black Key was made to effectively slay whatever non-human its holy steel touched.

And now here, it was to be used by the secret-secret group of Templars. Men and women who favored magicks and gunpowder over steel but did not disdain from using it.

But the heretic merely laughed at what he saw as a useless gesture.

"You fools! Your bravery will get you nowhere! I will tear your flesh from your bones!" he shouted maniacally before blasts of eldritch lightning lashed out from his fingertips. Dozens went down in an instant, their flesh being literally torn off the bodies by the demonic power.

Others were blown back by the explosions, some being thrown as far back as the doorway.

But Deacon never faltered, he charged on even as his comrades were torn apart all around him. There was no fear, no trepidation, no doubt. He was going to put an end to that foul heretic if it was the last thing he did in this life.

The one charging next to Deacon suddenly exploded in a shower of bones and flesh as the demonic powers ripped him apart and sent Deacon tumbling to the ground from the shockwave. He tried to stagger back up again, but unbearable pain was wracking his body and sending him into violent spasm. Some kind of psychic attack must have hit him. His vision grew darker, even as he heard with greater clarity as the maniacal heretic obliterated everyone facing him while laughing like the madman he was.

Those who were pushed back tried to rush back but the doors slammed shut, their thumping fists a futile effort to join their dying comrades in their last moments.

Then it all became silent again. The butchery was apparently over, and the heretic was still standing. The vile fiend gave an unimpressed scoff at the futile effort done by the Hellfire soldiers.

"Idiots. This is what awaits all who opposes the might of Hell," He muttered darkly to himself before he turned back to his blasphemous ritual. At those words, something stirred within Deacon. Even as pain tore him apart from the inside out, he found determination flooding his veins. This was not how it was going to end. Hell would not win, it would never win. Not as long as there were those willing to fight it.

With a monumental effort, Deacon forced his eyes open and rolled over onto his hands and knees. Even as the eldritch powers continued to press down on his tortured body like the hand of a god, Deacon stubbornly forced himself back on his feet, clutching his Black Keys tightly in between his fingers. Slowly, he forced one foot forward, then the next, then another step, and another, and another. With pure willpower did he push onward, every step bringing him closer towards the unsuspecting heretic who had turned his back on the slaughter he had just committed.

His goal became clear when the very air in front of him began to split and tear. Foul energy spilled out like oozing blood from the wound in reality. That madman was seeking to open a portal into the fiery depths itself. Step by agonizing step, Deacon drew closer to his quarry, until he stepped inside the blasphemous circle drawn on the floor. Only then did the heretic become aware that he was not alone as he spun around and beheld the approaching soldier in shock and fear.

"No! That's impossible! You shouldn't be able to stand!" he exclaimed frightfully. With the Hell Gate in the process of being opened, he could not divert his power to deal with this pest without getting dragged into Hell along the way. Meaning he was completely defenseless against this lone soldier. Closer and closer did Deacon draw towards the heretic, even as pain the likes of which he had never experienced worked to force him on his knees. But he would not bend so easily.

"Wait!" the heretic suddenly cried out in panic. "It doesn't have to be like this! I never wanted to call upon the Demons of Hell! I know of their evil, but your Vatican forced my hand in order to save my people! If you withdraw now, I'll break off the spell and never use it again!" his attempts at saving his life was in vain as Deacon raised his swords, making ready to plunge it into his black heart.

"Once again, with the cliches," Deacon said through gritted teeth, "Just save your breath, you need it to scream as you die."

"If you interrupt the ceremony now, Hell will claim us both! Do you understand me?! You will be dragged into the realm of daemons to be picked apart by its denizens! You'll never join your precious God in the afterlife!" the raving madman was now screeching out whatever he could think of to buy time, but Deacon was deaf to his words of warning.

"So be it," That was all Deacon said on the matter, voice as dead as his comrades, before he plunged his swords straight through the chest of the heretic and into his heart. A startled gasp was all that left his mouth before the Hell Gate began to writhe and crack, the foul energy it had been seeping out beginning to get dragged back to the pits that spewed it out. But Hell was not leaving the material plane empty-handed, as it began to drag with it the corpse of the heretic that summoned it, taking his killer as a bonus as well.

Deacon wanted to fight back, but there was no strength left in his body, and he had fulfilled his task. He was content with what he had accomplished, and accepted the cruel fate that awaited him. And so it was, that when the Hell Gate closed, it had dragged Hellfire soldier Deacon with it, to face whatever torture and madness that awaited him on the other side.

=R=W=B=Y=

Jaune was bowled over as an explosion shook the ground. He whimpered, wincing as his wounds were agitated and his blood continued to seep out an alarming pace. He had torn his way through the forest and lost most of his enemies through the trees but of those he fought, he had another mark placed upon him. Jaune no longer felt the will to fight, he no longer felt the courage of a warrior against the horde. Now, he truly felt his age. He was no hero who won at the end, he just a child that was hurt and aching and now wanted nothing more to be with his parents and be safe and for everything to go back to normal.

The growl broke him out of his thoughts. The swing is what lifted him off the ground. The impact is what truly shocked his mind back into reality.

Jaune cried out, his hands flying to the new wound. Unlike the previous ones, this one was deep and it was painful. He could feel something hard poking at his hands and it was with cold terror that he realized he was touching his ribs. The young boy turned and met the blood red eyes of the Ursa, the bear Grimm letting out a panting sound as it slowly trudged over and seemed to savor his pain.

The little child tried crawling backwards, dragging his tired body along the ground and leaving a bloody trail as he made to get away. The Ursa seemed to be laughing at his weakness now, it's large lumbering steps shaking the ground as it easily outpaced him. He could feel it, the tears running down his face as he cried.

He was going to die, he was going to be eaten and there was nothing to be done about it.

"HELP! SOMEONE! ANYONE!" Jaune cried pitifully, "HELP ME!"

The Ursa was upon him now, its hulking mass shadowing his tiny frame. Jaune felt the hot breath of the foul beast as it bought its maw close, open wide and teeth shining as the Grimm made ready to bite him in half.

"Please," Jaune whimpered, "I don't want to die."

"For the Lord will execute judgment by fire And by His sword on all flesh, And those slain by the Lord will be many," A man's voice coldly stated, "Isaiah 66:16."

Two black blurs impacted the monster. The Ursa was lifted off of him, the bear Grimm roaring as it suddenly became engulfed in flames.

"Burn, abomination. Let the flames purge your taint."

The Ursa let out one last roar before it collapsed and turned into ash. A half naked scarred teen stomped over, picking up his swords and hiding them on his person before he rushed over to Jaune.

"Kid? Kid can you hear me?"

Jaune felt his head drooping, his vision fading as blackness creeped at the edges of his sight.

"Damn it, all right hold still. This is going to hurt...but at least you'll live."

A burning sensation seized his nerves and didn't let go. The young boy felt his throat be stretched raw from his screaming before the pain mercifully ended and was replaced with a near calm warmth. The child curled up and tried to let the heat engulf him. It was strange, it was alien but it made him feel safe.

"Ok, let's get you somewhere sa- YOU!"

Jaune couldn't see from his prone position but when the warmth disappeared, he nearly whimpered. The child couldn't see past the torso of his new friend but he could hear the hammering of his heartbeat as the teen brandished his family sword at some unseen enemy.

" **W-r-o-n-g...t-h-i-s...i-s...W-R-O-N-G!"**

There was a moment of silence. A moment of utter stillness.

A long, vengeful howl broke it. It shattered the plane of reality and gutted the foundations of the world.

Pure black claws reached out. Grasped the edges of existence. Pulled.

Suddenly a great gust of wind seemed to whip about the two, the very ground they stood upon became engulfed and sucked into the yearning black hole. The stranger clutched him tight, jamming a sword into the ground and wrapping his remaining arm securely around him.

It wasn't enough. Jaune could feel them both be lifted up and slowly near the chasm that would consume them both.

"God be with us," Jaune could hear the whispers even as the very surroundings were torn up, "God be with us both."

The last thing Jaune saw before inky darkness took him was his home, off in the distance.

The fabric realigned itself just as fast as it was torn.

By the time anyone arrived on the scene, they would only find one peculiar blade, jammed into the ground as if to mark a grave.


	4. Interlude 2

I'll never forget that day. The day when my little eyes took in the vast world around me. Even at such a young age I could comprehend, I could understand that my life was just a speck in the big ocean. There were many others, some like me and others completely different. In the end, it mattered little. Remnant was a big place and humanity had weathered the worst the Grimm could muster and survived and even started to thrive again.

But the Grimm never stopped plotting our destruction and they always came back.

I don't think I'll ever forget the horrors I've witnessed or the battles I've fought or the blood I've shed. Each battle was a scar on my soul, a testimony to just how far I had matured from the naive little boy who used to only worry about older sisters and bed times,.

Now I was a man. A bloodied man.

That fateful day...that day when I made my stand against the terror of Grimm and fought to protect what was mine.

It was the day that I saw how big the universe really was...and how tiny Remnant fit into it all.

Through that vortex and into a new reality, I learned about the true horrors that lusted after the end of Humanity.

Just like the other monstrosities that plagued us, the Grimm were but one species of terror.

The true horror was realizing that they were only a mere drop to the vast sea of horrors that wanted nothing more than to devour life as we know it

Those monsters made the Grimm seem tame and small in comparison.

I struggled but learned.

I bled but survived.

I suffered but lived.

I lost...and I won.

My name is Jaune Arc, and I was eight years old when the Grimm Horde first attacked my home.

Now…eight years later, I return.

And those damned Grimm better be ready, I'm about to demonstrate to them why exactly humanity is at the top of the food chain.


	5. Prologue 3

With an ear shattering explosion, the once empty field was now wreathed in fire and smoke.

"And stay dead this time, you bastard!"

Jaune Arc roared as he rammed Corea Mors through the chest plate of a black knight. The teen was dressed in some light plate mail, armor designed to provide maximum coverage without impeding any movement. His opponent had elected to wear the opposite, armor that covered every inch of the body and showed no skin at all.

Seeing as the black knight was now a corpse that was drenching the ground in a puddle of blood, it was a choice that didn't help him any.

Jaune continued to stare at the corpse, unmoving as he perched over it and leaned into his family blade. All these years, all the suffering this monster in human flesh had caused and now…

Now it was all over.

Jaune Arc, sixteen with the eyes of an older man, breathed in deep and savored his kill. It was done…it was finally over.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you kid."

Jaune jumped, reflexively settling into a battle ready stance.

"I mean, I like to enjoy a good revenge slaying as much as the next zealot but I wouldn't recommend doing that with a former vessel to a demon."

The blonde young man gulped, heeding the wisdom that was his elder.

Deacon was a hardcore exorcist well versed in all dealings with the unholy and supernatural. The older man was well respected and sought after as a prime fighter on the frontlines against all the demons that preyed on humanity.

He also was one of his few close friends and had been the reason he got to see past his eighth birthday. Both of them had met through the twisted schemes of a dark power that tore Jaune from his home and thrust him into a new world full of dangers worse than the ones his previous world held. Still, Deacon stuck by the child and eventually the two became inseparable, learning to fight side by side and forging a bond that was akin to father and son.

Which made it all the more disturbing when Jaune got an eyeful of what should have been his much older and battle hardened friend.

"…This might be the black magicks speaking but do I…sound younger?"

Jaune did an about face and had to rub his eyes and blink twice before he confirmed what his vision was sending to his brain. While he had opted for a traditional armored set that was reminiscent of knights of old, geared to protect as much as possible while offering as much free maneuverability as plate mail would offer, his elder had been equipped in the simple cloth of a priest.

Granted the cloth was enchanted and blessed but it looked more fitted for a causal setting than the actual battlefield. The vulnerability shone through now, the once pristine set turned into glorified rags. To go back to the issue at hand though, Jaune took one more long hard look at his colleague and concluded one thing.

"I think that demon sucked out your lifeforce…and made you around my age."

The man in question was quite tall, fairly young, and had a spiky mass of black hair with red highlights on his head. However, the most striking feature about him was the burns. Large crisscrossing marks pocked the body and seemed to intertwine as if to convey some twisted message in the burned flesh.

Deacon took one look at his body, patted his face, and summed up his thoughts in one word.

"Fuck."

=R=W=B=Y=

A light drizzle darkened the skies that made people rush inside and those who couldn't long for a hot meal and a dry bed. A lone figure stood atop a wall of logs and surveyed the surrounding area. The placement of the gate and fortifications made for the perfect vantage point to defend against any siege, including but not limited to a horde of Grimm.

The single guard, a woman judging by her obvious stature and figure, kept glancing over the empty field that laid before her. She hefted a rifle and peered around, taking note of any possible hiding spots or walls that could be utilized by her fellow guards in the case of an attack. Earlier, she had been told by the visiting group of hunters that there had been increased sightings of Grimm in the area and while she hated to listen to those useless _heroes_ , she was not so foolish to pay little heed to warnings.

"Violet said you were at it again," The mild voice was part amused, part exasperated, and brought Blanc out of her black mood. She looked behind to see a pretty young blonde in her early twenties standing there.

"Hrm? What?" Verte sighed and sat down next to her.

"You're brooding again aren't you," It wasn't a question. When Blanc said nothing, Verte rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"What are you like, Blah Blah, we've all told you to cut it out with the depression already…" That prompted a smile to tug at the corner of the other young woman's mouth.

"Can you stop? I've been too old for that stupid nickname for years now for crying out loud."

Verte grinned briefly, then became serious again. "But you were doing the melancholy guilt-trip brooding thing again, weren't you…"

"What if I was?" Blanc sighed tiredly.

"Is it something to do with those Hunters that were here earlier?"

"Hrn."

Again Verte sighed. When Blanc made that particular non-committal sound, it was a sign she wasn't going to divulge any more information on the present topic no matter how much she was pestered. The oldest Arc child had always been put into a mood whenever Hunters were involved. The young woman once had aspirations to join the prestigious group of warriors but became disillusioned with them long ago when they prioritized one man's life over that of civilians.

Civilians that included her baby brother.

"Well Violet told me to come here and get you to stop being such a grump. Mom also wanted me to give you some of this."

Blanc turned and nearly gave a squeal when she was gifted the thermos of homemade soup and slightly cold but soft bread. Mama Arc may be one of the strongest hunters in the world but she still took the time to be the greatest mommy too. None of the Arc children would ever willingly miss a meal of hers.

"Thanks Verte. Tell mom that too…and…let Violet know I'll stop being a grump. Now get inside, you'll catch a cold."

"You're too overprotective," Verte said with a groan, "Besides, it's just a little rain. You should take a break, the village is still gonna be standing here tomorrow. Taking one night off won't kill you."

The younger Arc sister suddenly took a softer tone of voice, "Besides, it's silly to keep blaming yourself for every little thing. No one blames you for what happened…and I know Dad already beats himself up enough about it."

Blanc schooled her features and turned back to stare out over the ramparts. The older part of the Arc family had torn their way through the Grimm in a mad rush to get home, mission and holdings be damned. Their mother had sobbed when they found the home broken into and silent but her tears turned into relief when they checked the secret cubby to find the three youngest inside.

It was short lived when the little girls told them what Jaune had done.

Rarely had the family seen Nicolas Arc become so infuriated but that day, the current scion of the house of the Arc family waged a single one man war on the invading Grimm and beat back the tide of Darkness. The rampage was legendary and cemented his status as the figurehead for the current mission to reclaim the lost lands that each government pooled resources to commit to but the Arc man was finished.

Nicolas rebuked the men in charge, proclaiming that he was done with traveling on far away jobs and leaving his family to fend for themselves. He hung up his blade, a self-made sword in the likeness of the ancestral Corea Mors, and retired to his true home, a little house on the outskirts he built by hand. Nicolas spent day and night, tirelessly working until he finally felt that the defenses he made were adequate protection.

To him, everything was a little shy of satisfactory. To everyone else, it looked like he turned a small wooden homely cottage into a veritable castle that would require two armies just to breach, let alone take. Refugees flocked to the new castle and declared fealty under Nicolas Arc, offering their services in return for protection. The man gave no confirmation but also no denial.

Eventually the population boomed and a settlement blossomed out. It was a good foothold leading into the wild and the walled cities made an extra note to mark down the newly declared community as a trade hub. The economy was flowing and Nicholas Arc made damn sure that if any Grimm so much as looked in the direction of the walls, eradication followed. The prospering area was a surprise to those in the government but chose not to make a hassle out of finally having made a successful stronghold outside the walls in years.

Verte and Blanc both huffed at how broken their father had become. He had once been a powerful man in his prime, embodying the trope of masculine hero that saved the day. Ever since Jaune disappeared though, he seemed to visibly age and suddenly lost all his warlike luster. The man no longer wanted to fight a battle unless it directly affected him and what was his while no one could really fault him for his emotional breakdown, there were people who decried his actions for abandoning others to the ever increasing threat of Grimm.

Instead, the populace had to make do with the Arc maidens, the sisters who took their father's place on the frontline and carved their own legacies into the bodies of the monstrosities.

"Look, just come inside for a little at least. You gotta give a report to dad anyways."

Blanc conceded the point and stuffed her meal away for later. It was just as she got up that they both heard the rumble. Verte looked up at the sky with a mildly concerned frown.

"Was that thunder?"

Blanc didn't answer, and when the younger blonde looked at her sister, she saw that Blanc had wrenched down her hood and was crouching with the fingers of one hand lightly touching the metal of the catwalk above the gate while the other hand rested on her knee. Tense and motionless, she was ignoring the cold rain water soaking her hair and sliding down her neck and cheeks.

"Blanc?"

"That wasn't thunder…"

No sooner were the words out of her mouth then they heard another rumble, this one much closer and louder than the first so much so that they felt it vibrating the wood beneath their feet, and in a moment of spiraling horror, Verte realized what Blanc had feared. The rumbling did not come from above as it would if it were thunder. Instead it came from below, which could mean only one thing…

Grimm.

Immediately Blanc dived for the siren to sound the alarm even as Verte scrambled down from the catwalk above the gate to spread the warning. The siren was a gramophone-shaped device that emitted a loud wail when the handle on the side of the box was turned and Blanc spun it as fast as she could, making the alarm siren howl through the entire camp.

Immediately, all around the camp, everything was dropped as the inhabitants followed what they'd practiced during the attack drills. The handful that were trained guards took up arms and headed for the gate while the non-combatant members of the camp scurried to take cover in the various safe rooms the villagers had built.

Meanwhile Blanc got on the comm and broadcasted a distress call to all the combatants that were out on patrol or scavenger hunts.

 _This is White Lady issuing total recall! Base is under attack by the Grimm! Repeat, this is White Lady calling recall! The base is under attack by the Grimm, we need backup ASAP!_

Even as she finished the mayday transmission, the rumbling from beneath the ground had come closer and become even more violent; causing a constant vibration through her feet. As though in a nightmare, Blanc slowly turned to look out over the wide street outside the north gate of the camp, and before her eyes several sections of the roadway began to shake, and then collapsed completely as over a dozen Grimm emergence holes broke the surface. Immediately the roars of the invading monsters reached the horrified woman's ears and ripped her out of her trance.

Blanc quickly swung herself down from the gate and called the gathering fighters to her. They looked pale and scared but determined, and Blanc hesitated; what if she was sending these men and women to their deaths as well? Their father was out on patrol, two of her younger sisters with him. Mother and the rest were rushing to safe room and it left her as the oldest to issue orders and defend the walls. She looked around at her fellow guards and gulped, losing her nerve.

Each of them had known the risks then and they knew them now when they offered their bodies to the cause, but they wanted to defend their friends and families, their homes and the lives they'd built here, if those things weren't worth dying for, then what was?

Swiftly Blanc organized the villagers into pairs and assigned each pair their posts; she and a slightly younger dark-haired lad named Jet at the barricades on the catwalk above the gate.

Crouching behind the sandbags, Blanc loaded her rifle. Though she had Hunter training, it was incomplete and ill-suited for the situation at hand. The villagers were armed with well-kept and weathered gear that was just below the usual standard of any Altas military soldier. While no one had any unique homemade weapons, it didn't stop them from unloading crates of ammo into the Grimm whenever they showed up.

Blanc herself was partial to a good ol' fashion long range gun, the ability to stand above and rain death down below had become addicting to her and she made her past experiences known as she mechanically loaded and fixed her favorite old gun to its stand and lined up the crosshairs.

The holes had erupted at the far end of the street and the first beowulfs had just passed the halfway point down the avenue leading to the camp, when Blanc sighted along her scope with one of the leading Alphas.

"Hold steady…" she murmured into the comm hooked over her ear. The rain was heavy now; severely impairing visibility and making aiming much, much harder. They'd have to hold until the Grimm came close enough to be clearer targets…

"Steady…"

The huge dark beasts continued to approach blithely in full view, as though they didn't know that several reticules and crosshairs were being pointed at them, or else putting too much trust in the grey curtain of rain that half obscured them.

They soon realized their folly as Blanc roared; "OPEN FIRE!"

Immediately the air was filled with gunfire; the screaming stutter of assault rifles, the roaring blast of shotguns, and the bitten off bangs of three sniper rifles. The first wave of Grimm fell under the hail of bullets, but the rest continued to move forward, pushing through the volley with their comrade's flesh.

Blanc felt her heart sink as she saw the sheer number of the enemy that they were facing. This wasn't just a stray sighting or even a small pack that had drifted too close to the site. These Grimm had come specifically to attack this camp…

She didn't even have time to wonder why such a large force would be sent to attack villagers instead of the main stronghold, as the Grimm reached the gates. Blanc immediately grabbed the sandbags that covered her, watching with horror as the metal buckled while she felt them shudder under the assault.

Over the comm she heard separate cries of terror and death, the Grimm washing over the poor unfortunate souls that were manning the posts in front of the gate …

It soon became obvious that there were just too many of the Grimm and with a horrible sinking feeling of inevitability, Blanc realized that it was only a matter of time before the camp was overrun… The thought made anger blaze up inside her and she switched from her rifle to an assault; forget finesse, she wanted to fill something with lead.

It was just as she'd emptied one of the clips and was reloading, that she heard an entirely different kind of roar to that of the Grimm's, swiftly followed by the shriek of a metal. Thinking for a horrible moment that the people that had been out on patrol had arrived and proceeded to just dive in to engage the enemy, Blanc quickly looked out from behind her barricade.

There were indeed more defenders on the battlefield, hiding behind debris behind the actual Grimm holes, but it wasn't them that Blanc had heard, and she was just in time looking out to see none other than some white armored man slice a Grimm in half… A quick glance over the rest of the warzone revealed one other unique combatant, neck-deep in combat with the Grimm and…ON FIRE?

" _This is Deacon of the Templars, reporting in. Me and my companion have no idea what the hell is going or who you people are but that's not gonna stop us from tearing these monsters a new one."_

Her hand flew to her comm, voice nearly sobbing with relief but held steady, _"Thanks for the back up. Where's the rest of your team?"_

" _We are the team,"_ Deacon responded as he decapitated wolves left and right, " _I'm the one on fire. My friend Jaune is the one pushing in. We'll clean house and finish this for you."_

" _That's crazy! You should back off and reinforce with my men!"_

" _We'll be fine. Wouldn't be the first time we did this. Keep your men clear, we'll handle the majority."_

" _As if! Men! Show these newcomers what we're made of!"_

" _Hmph, very well."_

The aforementioned warrior was currently cleaving his way left and right, shield held high and blade swinging like clockwork. It was like watching a machine, the way the newcomer simply scrapped through the thick horde. His stance was simple but effectively in its practicality. He blocked an attack, swung his sword, fell back into defense, rinse and repeated. No Grimm was too strong, no monster overpowered his shield arm or held steady when he sliced through them.

Any danger proposed by a flanking Beowulf or Ursa was diminished when fire sprouted from nowhere and engulfed the very air. The temperature of the battlefield seemed to increase at a fast rate, making some pause and wonder where the heat was coming from. Deacon revealed himself as the source, Black Keys clutched between his knuckles and launched with reckless abandon, flames consuming anything they touched as the holy swords did what they were made to do and slice through the black demons.

" _Impressive, your men are indeed prepared for this."_

" _An Arc never goes back on their word buddy! Now enough chatter!"_

The air soon great humid and ashen with disintegrating Grimm, the heavy downpour that previously obscured the battlefield lightened and allowed everyone to see the two heroes clearly as they dove into combat like madmen and fought thorough. It was strange, seeing one-man tear through with reckless abandon while the other slowly and meticulously cleave through the crowds of Grimm.

The holes from whence the Grimm emerged were shuttered and capped, well thrown grenades or a pillar of flames that Deacon called forth to incinerate all that stood in its path. Many gaped and marveled at such high elemental control, whispering and questions floating around as there was no dust seen on the wild priest.

Eventually the skirmish stopped and the haggard defenders celebrated, the last Grimm crumbling into black particles as the two warriors made sure that not one Grimm was left. The survivors of the attack all cheered the two warriors, grateful for the assist and seeking answers to who they were.

Blanc herself stepped down from the ramparts to greet the two, letting her paranoia dictate that at least half of the defenders were just as ready to fight back against the two should they turn on them.

But when she got closer to the two, a niggling sense of familiarity ate at her when she laid eyes on the one called Jaune. She didn't dare hope that it wasn't some coincidence that this savior shared a name with her baby brother and she ignored her gut about the feeling until she established concrete proof.

Deacon was the first to notice her approach and in a foreign display, bowed to her with his arms to his side and his body forward and head down. It was such an awkward scene, a half-naked scarred man capable of wielding fire like nothing bowing to her.

"It is an honor to meet you, White Lady," He said as he rose, "I hope that our unexpected appearance wasn't too much trouble and that you'll be willing to help us just as we helped you."

Blanc searched his words, trying to decipher if there was any hidden meaning behind them. She also couldn't place the slight accent the flaming man had or disguise her shock at the scars he bore.

"The honor is all mine…I guess. Tell me, what's a pair of Hunters like you doing way out here?"

The armored Jaune seemed to tense, memories from long ago coming unbidden as the voice of the lady and the terms seemed to jolt some long forgotten recollection.

"I feel like that term holds more meaning than a job that means to hunt wildlife and game animals for food."

Blanc raised an eyebrow and felt herself grow even more suspicious. Rarely did anyone ever not know what the prestigious title of Hunter truly mean and even more mysterious when they had the skills for it but no knowledge.

"Well…where do you hail from? Is it one of the outliner villages that managed to escape the attention of the Grimm or something? Not many people know what that title doesn't mean."

Deacon seemed to tense just as well, realizing that they were treading on thin ice. He noticed the locals still armed and ready, as if one wrong move would result in a fight for their lives.

"It would take more time than we're strictly allowed to explain the full story and it seems that the exchange of knowledge would be uneven if we were to swap stories. I guess in this case I must bid you farewell as me and my companion must depart immediately."

Blanc had her eyes narrowed and was just about to give an order to detain these two, violently if necessary, when the steel-clad man spoke.

"And even if I were to stand alone against the hordes of enemies, I would gladly stare into the face of death if it meant honoring my word."

Her heart stopped and the color drained from her face as some alien feeling washed over her. Now that they were given some breathing room, Blanc felt that feeling came back tenfold and suffocate her. Her eyes roamed the figure, looking for any signs that gave away what he knew.

Just when her eyes locked onto the shield before her and her focused brain remembered the sight of the family sword, the armored man removed his helm and made eye contact.

"I remember when dad used to say that to us before training. I remember it vividly when we fought. I remember…you."

Bright blue eyes that were once so innocent and full of joy, now hardened by years of combat and reality stared back into hers. Blanc felt her breathing hitch and she took an unsteady step back, willing herself back to face the truth before her.

"J-Jaune? B-baby brother?"

"An Arc always keeps their word. The family motto," The young blonde man gave a gentle smile, tears starting to fall from his face, "I swear to you on my honor and the family name, I am who I say I am."

Blanc gasped, her own tears starting to spill.

"I thought I would never see you again Blah-Blah," Jaune said with choked smile, "But I'm here now and…I'm home."

She didn't know when or why she didn't react when he reached forward and hugged her.

Intellectually, she knew that it was rather silly for her to accept the crazy situation so fast. She should be demanding evidence, waiting for proof before she acted on anything. Hell, she knew she should have waited until her father got a good look at him and his weapons to be sure before she accepted it. But, at that moment, she couldn't do that. At that moment, her baby brother Jaune was back in her arms again.

It had been a long time since she cried like that.


	6. Prologue 4

The first thing Jaune felt when he stepped through the doorway of his childhood home was the sensation of being smothered. It wasn't an unexpected feeling, seeing as no sooner did Blanc drag him home and through the door then his mother tackled him and latched on with the strength of a bear. He had some minor issues breathing and that was only compounded when his siblings all piled in and wrestled his arms to his side and made escape impossible.

Jaune was uncomfortable and he tried to hide it from his face.

Living in the past eight years in constant battles and small periods of rest made him paranoid of new places. Being surrounded by so many familiar but foreign people, despite familial ties, didn't make it any easier. Jaune struggled initially, almost suffering a panic attack before a reassuring whisper of words made him relax.

He stopped himself from resisting too hard, suddenly content to lay on the floor as his family did their best to suffocate him in their attempt to make sure he was real and alive. While it was difficult, he felt deep down that he truly wouldn't be able to break free even if he used his full strength.

Earlier, he had shaken Blanc off when she tried to hug him when he wasn't paying attention. The general feeling of restriction made him unintentionally shake her off, making her cry.

Even in his battle-scarred mind, the crying of a woman, especially one that was related to him, was such an unnatural feeling that he visibly pitched forward, hand over his heart in phantom pain.

Deacon had also whacked him over the skull.

In the end, when the Arc ladies had let him up only to launch into a mass babble of questions and words, Jaune had felt something. It was familiar but small, a feeling long ago that he thought he wouldn't experience ever again. As he started to field questions and answer to the best of his ability, he caught the eyes of the only other males in the room.

His mentor and his protector, the man who watched him grow from a little boy into a battle hardened warrior, stood off to the side and leaned against the wall and quietly discussed something with his father and patriarch, the man who birthed him and taught him his steel clad morals and honor.

Nicholas Arc calmly met his gaze while smoking a pipe, Deacon providing a flame off his index finger. Both men, quietly conversing with each other, seemed to be sizing each other up. Jaune internally gulped, hopeful but afraid of what would happen if the two men didn't get along.

Having to choose between his father and his mentor would be a hard choice, something that he probably wouldn't be able to properly decide even if given unlimited time.

=E=M=P=

It was dead quiet in the middle of the night as Jaune Arc sat outside and stared at the stars. Nearly a decade spent in constant strife, constant battle, had made him unable to adjust to the now nearly idyllic scene outside his ancestral home. It was strange really. How many times did he entertain the thought of peace, how many hours were wasted just daydreaming of a time when he would truly be free from warfare?

And now that he was, he couldn't relax.

"It's quite a beautiful night out here," A familiar voice intoned, "Not often do you get to see so many stars. Though I'm not sure how to feel about the shattered moon."

"Deacon," Jaune began, "I'm…I was uh."

"Restless? Unable to sleep? Too overstuffed and crushed by the combined weight of eight women all hugging you until your bones nearly cracked?"

Jaune grimaced, rubbing his arm. It was strange, his memories of his family all fuzzy but still there. He had longed to return to them when he first was whisked away to somewhere else but over time, the desire to return dulled and was replaced with the wish to survive. Each passing day was spent in continuous acceptance that it could be his last.

"Your family…they're lovely. Not too jaded by the darkness that surrounds them. Your father is a great man too; I can see it in his eyes and his words."

Jaune sighed. Another reminder of his awkward reconnection. If it wasn't the near suffocation then it was the silent judgment, the appraisal of each other when both Arc men finally laid eyes on each other once more.

While Nicholas Arc retained his figure from his early hunter days, cutting a dashing well sculpted hero who had seen conflict, his face bore the mark of time. Salt and pepper colored hair, eyes that hid many traumas, wrinkles that settled in deep and kept growing with each passing day. No, Nicholas Arc wouldn't be winning any handsome contests anytime soon but with his imposing impression and the near stone like stare, he was still quite a man to behold.

Jaune was already following in his footsteps. His face had grown to be close enough that he could be mistaken for a younger version by a stranger. He didn't cut the striking stature of his father but the full plate armor and general air of nervousness combined with a steely aura made it clear enough that Jaune could eventually match his father in both bearing and power.

Maybe surpass him.

In the end, while father and son stared at each other in deafening silence, the females flocked to the other companion who arrived at the home and forced an interrogation upon him. Deacon stoically bore the attention, answering most questions efficiently and curtly without divulging too much. He was a man that acted rather than spoke and while he was uncomfortable with the focus on his burn scars that littered his body, he remained polite.

He also needed a shirt.

"You know, I think my baby sister likes you."

"Which one?"

"Violet. You know, the one with…" Jaune pantomimed towards his hair, "I guess time never changes the hero worship. And in her eyes, you're a great hero. What with guiding me through the years and such."

"Ha, if she knew what I really was like, she would run for the hills. Besides, I'm too old for her. Mentally I'm probably older than all of them."

Deacon sighed, adjusting the white cotton shirt and grumbling as he surveyed his body for the hundredth time. It was immensely jarring to suddenly find oneself young again yet still possessing the scars obtained over a lifetime of fighting. Having his life force slowly sucked out of him, Deacon should've become a decrepit old man that was near dust but the backlash from interrupting the demon's ritual and the resulting backlash instead gave him back more than what was taken.

Deacon, for all intents and purposes, was eighteen again.

Which sucked.

"I hated dealing with hormones back then and I hate dealing with them now. I'm a fighter, I've always been a fighter. Never once have I strayed from my faith but the constant reminder of the beauties around me does not make things easy!"

Jaune got a small chuckle out of his friend's predicament before stating, "I just want you to know. You may have had a hand in raising me and I consider you my male role model and older brother in all but blood but if you hurt any of my sisters in any shape or form, I'll gut you and nail your corpse to a cross."

"That sounds justifiable."

Jaune and Deacon stiffened, turning to look as the man of the house strolled out in front of the two.

"Jaune. Sir Deacon."

"Dad."

The fiery priest remained silent, observing the older man as he stuck a pipe in his mouth. Wordlessly, Deacon slowly bought his hand forth and snapped his fingers, lighting the tobacco for him. Nicholas didn't react much, puffing away. The trick, when he first did it, had been impressive and surprising but with the amount that his father had been smoking, the novelty wore off fast.

"Wish I had a man on hand who could do that for me. Would save us on tinder and matches honestly."

"Nice to know I'm a glorified lighter in your eyes, sir."

"Don't call me that. I'm not a commander or a captain or anything. I'm just an old man trying to keep his family safe and making sure his daughters can marry happily while making sure his one son didn't change too much over the eight years he spent away from home."

Jaune silently bore his father's stare as the man puffed away.

"Deacon has told me of the…adventures you've gone through. Of the battles, you've fought and the men you…killed."

Jaune started to turn away, fearful of what he would see on his face.

"I'm proud of you."

His head snapped up, the action nearly giving him whiplash.

"I admit, I never wanted you to have the life of a warrior. Our family history is one of sacrifice and martyrs. The Arc name has always beared this burden, forever having to perish in the line of duty."

The older man sighed, his age showing as he sagged.

"I'm terrified, knowing that your sisters and now you have taken up arms. I'm terrified that one day I would outlive my own offspring."

"As any father would be, especially in these times," Deacon chimed in, "You go through what every father does when all he knows is how to swing a weapon and that's all he can teach. As it stands, you won't have to worry about this son anytime soon. I swore an oath and he promised on his name that I would be first before he would be."

Nicholas shifted his gaze back and forth between the two young men, mouth moving as if to say something.

"I'm tired," Jaune said softly, "I'm tired of fighting. It's all I've done since I left. I've killed humans, I've killed monsters, I've killed men I respected, I even killed young children…some as young as Violet."

His father and his mentor both stared silently at him, faces unreadable but eyes showing nothing but concern.

"I've fought…and I've lost…I just want to rest father. I'm only eighteen years old and yet I've felt like I lived fifty."

"But you can't," two voices said in sync. Both father and mentor looked at each other before sharing a small chuckle and Deacon gestured for him to continue, "You're haunted. And tormented by the things you've done to survive."

"Yes. I am. And even if I wanted to…I know I can't stop. So long as my heart beats, my hands will ache to do battle. I know that deep down, with what I know of the injustices that go on in this world and Deacon's world, I could never stop fighting. My body will give out long before conflict stops."

"Then the least you can do is be capable of meeting the danger head on," Nicholas said as he puffed on his pipe, "Tell me, do you think you have what it takes to beat your old man in a good old fashion sword fight?"

Jaune paused and sized his father up.

"If I could find some way to force down the natural instinct of not harming my family, I feel like I could beat you. Not because I'm stronger or better, but because I've learned to fight strictly to the sense of finishing as fast as I can and as fatally as possible. You probably won't even realize what I'm doing until you're choking on your own blood."

Deacon hummed in thought before he slowly withdrew a Black Key. Long had he etched magical runes into his body that allowed him to store countless amounts of the holy weapon and Jaune had long associated the faithful zealot with the holy sword.

"Honestly speaking, I'm fairly certain Jaune could hold his own against the hordes here. The Grimm are unique only in name and design but not in strength or darkness. Jaune here has faced countless horrors, most of them stronger than him and all of them infinitely more terrifying despite his training. And if anything…"

Deacon threw one of his swords at Jaune. Jaune didn't even flinch as he swung upwards with the back of his gauntlet and caught the weapon mid-air.

"His instincts allow him plenty of leeways."

Nicholas glared at Deacon, "I would appreciate if you didn't attempt to harm my son in front of me."

Deacon held up his hands in a placating gesture, "Peace, we both know I would sooner throw myself onto my own blades than to bring unnecessary harm to our mutual charge."

"So long as we have an understanding," Nicholas sighed, "It's getting late. We should turn in. Tomorrow, we can decide where to go from here. I know Juniper has her own words that she wishes to express about what life path Jaune will take. If anything, my children will do their hardest to keep him anchored here."

Jaune shot his father a look before his eyes flickered over to Deacon. Nicholas caught the meaningful gesture and chuckled.

"If you think I would abandon the man who protected you and bought you back to us after all these years, then you must think the Arc words are only in effect when spoken and worth just as much as the breath we use to speak them. Our family owes Deacon a debt that cannot be repaid by just meager lodgings or supplies. If anything, he's just as much as a part of our family now for what he's done."

The youngest by age raised his eyebrows before Deacon shot him a smug look.

"And here you said that the day I ever become accepted into a family is either when I end up drunkenly impregnating a girl or being possessed by a lust demon. Look at me now, boy."

"Fuck you."

"No thanks, I'm straight even if I'm near celibate."

"You know what I meant."

=B=U=R=N=

The next morning didn't bring more talks of Jaune's future or the cursing of Deacon's name but physical work. Jaune and Deacon integrated themselves into the local work force and set about rebuilding the barricades that separated the outside dangers from the inside safety. The villagers kept a small circle around the two, speaking in hushed tones and gossiping about the returned son of the Arc patriarch and the foreigner who could fight while on fire like it was nothing.

"You ever think they'll stop gawking and just focus on working?"

"We're spectacle Jaune, it would be impossible for them to ignore us. Not after what we did and how we did it."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm just used to being well known enough that we don't have to deal with this kind of attention all the time. Especially when we should be bolstering our defenses, not spreading rumors about others."

The two worked in tandem, efficient and quickly. While whole sections of the wall needed replacing and would take hours of work, the two of them were doing it in half the time. Long had they developed a routine to aid each other when menial work needed to be done and prior experience made wall building and fortification quite easy and mundane.

Still, there was much to do and the recent casualties had only made it harder. Bodies needed to be recovered and given proper burial rites, weapons had to be retrieved and either scraped for raw material or given to someone who could use it, and there had to be a constant guard in case another round of Grimm came to say hello.

Jaune had already demonstrated, with unnerving calmness, how much he despised the dark soulless creatures when he went scavenging through some nearby old homely ruins and ended up slaughtering a pack of Beowulfs with extreme prejudice. When his sister Blanc, who had seen his rather violent actions through binoculars inquired why, he had stated simply because of some brotherly predisposition that made him angry enough to ensure that the damned monsters wouldn't have a chance to torment any unfortunate soul ever again, especially his mother or sisters.

Deacon had returned from his own scouting mission quoting about the same, covered in ashes and shirt in tatters. He did not specify what he had killed exactly, only that whatever he had killed had been big enough to burn slowly and cause the surroundings to alight on fire too. Good news, the Eastern front had been cleared of enemies. Bad news, the landscape had been reduced to blackened earth and ash as his actions torched down everything. At least there wasn't much left to recover.

"All I'm saying is, if stabbing it in the eye doesn't make it die immediately, immolation usually does wonders for those stubborn little bastards who just won't quit."

"And what happens when the stubborn little bastards that you are attempting to burn into nothing ends up panicking and dashing around."

"Then it stops being about the immolation and more about the target practice."

The banter between the two was light and in good fun. Those who listened in were befuddled but couldn't help but chuckle at some of the particular words and seriousness the two spoke with.

Which was the exact moment a massive airship descended outside.

Jaune and Deacon and everyone else working at the entrance were enamored by the sudden appearance by what could be classified as a warship. The landing was as gentle as its weight and bulk would allow, which wasn't by much and nearly threatened to topple over some of the unsupported pillars of wood that was yet to be secured.

"Damn it, of all the time to arrive," Nicholas growled as he made his way to the front, "I told them we had it handled and they come anyway. Why do I even bother?"

"Who are 'they'?" Jaune asked as he followed behind his father.

He noticed that Blanc and Verte were also present. Deacon was helping direct the rest of the workers to avoid any issues before he too joined the group towards greeting the unexpected visitors. The motley little crew stepped through the open gates, men with refurnished rifles unsure of how to react to the unexpected visitors.

Jaune himself let his eyes roam over the ship, trying to pinpoint weak points or potential avenues of entry. Deacon focused on the fuel and the fuse lines, internally judging how much fire he would have to pump into the machinery to cause it to explode.

As the five got close, a ramp descended downwards and admitted a squadron of soldiers being led by a beautiful white haired woman. The soldiers separated into rows and stood at attention with their firearms ready as two other noticeable characters walked through.

First was a tall man of steely stature. His hair was black, with some areas colored like salt and pepper. His eyebrows were solid black and there was a noticeable strip of silver metal above the right eyebrow. He was dressed meticulously and cleanly, white overcoat, with a gray undercoat, black sweater, a red necktie, and a white glove on his right hand.

The other man was a middle-aged man with tousled silver hair and thin brown eyes. He had a light complexion and sharp facial features. Interestingly, his eyebrows were black, unlike his silver hair.

He wore shaded glass spectacles and a small, purple, cross-shaped pin on the cowl around his neck. His outfit mainly consisted of an unzipped black suit over a buttoned vest and green shirt. He also wore black trouser shoes and long, dark-green pants.

In his hands, he walked along with a cane and a steaming mug.

"Ozpin. James. Miss Schnee," Nicholas' voice was as hard as stone, "What are you doing here?"

If any of them noticed the hostile tone, they didn't react. Ozpin calmly sipped from his mug while James tapped on a clear screen before handing it off. The Schnee was the only one to speak up.

"We are here to aid in the recovery of Sanctuary."

"Specialist Winter, direct the men to drop off the supplies while I converse with the Arcs."

"Blanc, go with her. Make sure the workers understand what to do and that no one causes any trouble or they answer to me."

"Sure, dad."

While she wasn't told to, Verte elected to trail after the oldest sister and with that only the men were left. Standing around in a former battlefield and flanked on one side by his son and on his other by a man who conjured fire like he breathed air, Nicholas sighed as he felt more out of place than when he first took to building a castle.

"I'm not going to question how you guys knew about this attack but-"

"I like to make it my business when we hear about what rates as one of the bigger horde movements in recent history attacking our new fledging city," Ozpin stated simply, "And even more when we receive a transmission for help."

"Sanctuary may be an extension of the Pour La Famille but it is a foothold into the main square. Letting this town fall would be to invite disaster into the new settlement."

"Grimm movements are closely monitored by my men, in particular when we are on the outskirts of established civilization. The sudden attack was recorded and my troops were scrambled as fast as possible to reach here in time," James paused as he squared his shoulders and let his eyes roam over the two flanking Nicholas, "Only to hear that our presence wasn't needed anymore. Not because the area had been wiped out by the Grimm but because there was no Grimm left after two men came onto the field and slaughtered them out."

Jaune and Deacon exchanged looks, the words and their meaning not lost on them. The names of the settlement and the city nearby, the spoken words laid out by the two men who radiated respect and discipline, and the very look that seemed to pick them apart to their basest core.

"Disregarding the fact that you have eyes watching every movement of the people under my protection, I have to ask again and in simpler terms. What. Do. You. Want?"

"We merely wish to assess and help repair the town. And meet the two gentlemen that aided it in its defenses."

Nicholas stiffened and made to speak but Deacon beat him to it.

"Well, here we are," Deacon stepped forth and bowed before rising, "My name is Deacon Ignis. I was put upon this ground to do one thing and one thing only. Purge the unjust with fire. Take that as you will."

Sip.

"Interesting."

"Was a threat?"

"No, just my introduction," Deacon give a friendly smile, "Despite Mister Arc's words, I can tell you two are sincere in your purpose. I will not let my judgment be swayed so simply by another's views. I do not know what reason it is for Mister Arc to bear such animosity towards you, but I will let time tell if his view is correct or not."

"He's basically saying he gets a good vibe from you two and that he hopes that you aren't trying to play him for a fool or else things get unpleasant," Jaune sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, "I'm Jaune Arc. A pleasure to make both of your acquaintances."

That got a sharp reaction as Ozpin actually let something close to surprise color his face and Ironwood to narrow and openly radiate suspicion. Both men shot Nicholas a meaningful look that he met with a stone face.

"Is this true?" Ozpin asked, "Has the prodigious son made his mighty return from whatever journey he's left on at the tender age of eight?"

"Ozpin, stop trying to sound poetic, it wastes everyone's time. You there, how can you prove that you are who you say you are."

Nicholas flared up with rage and opened his mouth to shout before Ozpin raised a hand.

"Allow him this. We all know that these years and constant failures to find your son have weighed upon you. And while this would be the first time that someone has stepped forth to claim that he is the returned Jaune Arc, we shouldn't rule out the potential of this being a ruse."

Jaune felt his head nod along with approval, "Yeah, not going to argue with that. I've done the same before, especially when the enemies you're fighting against can wear the flesh of your friends like a new skin. "

Everyone present looked a little unsettled at how causal he spoke of such gruesome happenings except for Deacon who was giving his own bitter smile at the memories. Jaune let out a dark chuckle before he presented his evidence.

"We got blood tests running somewhere and the results should be coming back soon. Other than that, I can present this!"

Slamming his fists together, a mechanical sound erupted from his torso before his plate armor sprouted out and started to expand over his body. The clothing he wore underneath was encompassed and gave way for the blessed steel. The color was a simple metallic gray but was crafted in a complex pattern that was in a manner of smaller interlocking and overlapping pieces rather than larger plates. The vitals were protected and the joints were given fluid motion in exchange for full protection.

While the guardsmen accompanying the general and headmaster had tensed, their stances lessened and became intrigued as engravings started to appear and shimmer with a faint glow. Jaune's face had disappeared under a hood that had flown over his head and while the teen was relaxed as his armor wrapped around his body as it had done hundreds of times, the ones with no prior experience could only continue to watch with interest until the process was finally complete.

It was with a final flourish that Jaune presented Crocea Mors, his ancestral blade to see. The sheath remained locked to his side while the beautiful and simple but durable and trustworthy blade shone in the sun. The crest of the Arc family shimmered in the morning light as Jaune Arc stood before the two powerful men in his outfitted glory. Drawing his dependable weapon and displaying, a faint aura infused itself around the length.

"Crocea Mors only responds to an Arc's touch. That glow and the crests should be proof enough."

"Impressive," Ozpin remarked as his eyes roamed up and down the figure before him, "I seem to recall this from a history book. In a memoir of one of your ancestors, it was said that he inspired his men to fight for his cause by brandishing his family crest for all to see and drive them forward."

"Think that was a great grandfather to the fifth power. He was a commander on the fields when humanity first made the push to reclaim its lost lands. Those very same lands where an academy stands."

"Atlas Academy has a statue of a man holding a similar weapon on display in the main courtyard," Ironwood stated, "I must admit, it's quite something to see history become real in the flesh before my own eyes."

"When I was taken away when I was dragged kicking and screaming into the war, I drew upon my readings of my family history to become my shield and bulwark. I lived as long as I did only because Deacon here allowed me to bring forth the glory that was my family name."

"Aw shucks kid, you're making me feel all embarrassed," Deacon deadpanned, "Stop it."

"Oh, go hang yourself."

"Ahem."

Both men stopped their banter and focused back on the two authority figures.

"As far as evidence goes, the sword's activation would mean enough. In addition, your prowess has been acknowledged by our combat analysts abroad our ship. Tell me, what are your plans for the future?"

"I don't think I like that tone of voice James. If I didn't know better, it sounded like you were looking to take my son away from me again."

"That's hardly the case. I must admit, I am quite curious to seeing for myself the full combat capabilities of your son and his mentor. The world could always use more heroes and Beacon offers the best training."

Nicholas' aura flared as his anger spiked once more but it stopped when Jaune placed a hand on his father's shoulder. The two Arcs shared a quiet silent communication before Nicholas sighed deeply before turned away and started to walk back to his home.

"We speak more of this with your mother. James, Ozpin, don't make any trouble for my family."

As the men started to depart, Deacon remained behind.

"Whelp, you gentlemen look like you have all things handled, I'm going to go clear out the Western front."

Ozpin took a sip as he passed him, "Alone?"

"I take it you saw the Eastern front on your way here."

"Deacon…don't burn everything down please," Nicholas shouted back with a bemused tone.

"I make no promises."


End file.
